Again and again, his cock pulses and squirts more of his seed into me. My hips gyrate in the air, milking every drop of cum while our bodies writhe together.
My back arches and the muscles of my core convulse sporadically. The orgasmic energy washes over me, making my mind go numb with ecstasy. Mr. Thompson wails. His legs quake beneath him and his pelvis jitters.
His thick load fills my insides, seeping out from me and dribbling down my crack. His body jostles on top of me while my walls squeeze tight around the whole of his dick, holding him there relentlessly until every ounce of sperm has been extracted.
When the tremors in my limbs begin to fade, he collapses his full weight onto me. A wide grin spreads across my face as I pet the back of his hair, holding him to my bare chest glistening in the sheen of our sweat. I had succeeded in getting Mr. Thompson to impregnate me.
After all, I haven't taken any birth control for weeks and I am in my most fertile period right now. I set it up that way just for him. Thanks to me, Mr. Thompson has found his motivation.
AS A BONUS, PLEASE ENJOY THIS LEWD AND INDECENT STORY TOLD FROM THE MALE PERSPECTIVE!
STUFFED FULL
CHAPTER ONE
The heat emanating from the glass pane of the oven is causing my eyes to water. I hunch over to get a better look inside, tapping my foot impatiently against white tile. Dawn light fills the kitchen.
My Bonnie Proper snickerdoodles will soon rise with the sun.
My back is getting sore. Did I set the timer right? I place a hand on my lower back to massage away the aching pain. Growing up, I never did learn how to bake, or even cook.
The microwave beeps again to let me know the frozen breakfast burrito is done, but I ignore it. Did I set the oven temperature correct?
I turn to grab the ripped plastic packaging from the top of an overflowing rubbish can and check the instructions again.
I jerk my head when I notice my roommate Curtis entering the kitchen. Curtis never took out the god damn trash. He acknowledges me with a couple slow nods and squeezes himself between the trash and the fridge, knocking a blackened banana peel to the floor with his bare knee.
He opens the door of the microwave. The rotating platter inside is stained by globs of hardened tomato sauce, the walls encrusted with yellow and orange cheese.
"Dude, your burrito is… well, now it's cold."
Curtis reaches for the nearest plate, shooing away the few roaches that are snacking on bits of crumb left from yesterday's breakfast.
He rinses the plate under the trickle of our low pressure facet and wipes it dry against his boxer shorts.
He tosses the burrito onto the plate and slides it across the counter until it collides with a row of tall glass cups along the sink's rim. None of the cups have been washed in weeks.
Curtis never did the god damn dishes.
He grabs the only frying pan in the apartment from the sink and brushes the metal center where the enamel is flaking off. He places it atop the stove and reaches a hand to test the warmth of the oven.
"Doesn't the packaging on those say 350?" He’s right.
"Pretty sure it's 325," I lie, "Are you gonna take the trash out?"
"I fucked Chrissy last night."
The door closest to the kitchen opens gently. My ex-girlfriend Chrissy emerges from Curtis's room wearing a pit stained Spider-Man tee that came down to her thighs, and nothing else.
She tiptoes toward the bathroom pretending to go unnoticed.
"But you're cool with it, right bro?"
Curtis jabs his fist hard against my shoulder. The truth is I hadn't slept. The rhythmic banging of a headboard against the thin wall that separated our rooms had me up baking early.
Baking always helped calm the nerves.
The slapping sounds of skin against skin, the moaning and grunting from that room, it all became like a symphonic accompaniment to my morning routine.
"Huh, I never even heard you guys," I shrug. The walls in our apartment were so thin I could’ve heard the friction of jeans if they’d been dry humping.
“We’ll hit up the old folks home today, make another batch after.” Fuck you Curtis. And I would have said it to his face if he wasn’t the one with the truck. A source of transportation was all he was good for.
We would be taking the cookie batches down to the retirement home’s bake sale that happened on Sundays. The ones from packaged dough always sold best, so long as we told people they were a home recipe.
Then all we had to do was pretend the money was going to some charity for impoverished children, or something. One package would sell for over fifty times what we paid, and old people love their fucking cookies.
Curtis keeps turning the knob to set the gas stove, but it doesn’t ignite.
"Fuck this, I’m just gonna grab something at Mickey’s.” He glances at the red light coming from the oven, then over to Chrissy who is scurrying back into his room.
“After I hit up that ass again first!” he says with the kind of grin I just want to smack off his face. He follows in after, slapping her on the ass while simultaneously kicking the door shut. There is a scream followed by laughter.
I start on a batch of oatmeal raisin.
CHAPTER TWO
The three of us were sitting outside at a Mickey’s plastic picnic table with uncomfortable seats, not really saying much.
A red and yellow striped umbrella above the center of the table is giving shade to Curtis and Chrissy while they share a quesadilla, and I can feel the heat from the sun on my back making me irritable.
I’m just siting here staring while they make out, waiting for them to finish their fucking quesadilla.
“You can finish that, I think we’re done.”
I got up to take a piss instead.
They had to put out two portable restroom stalls on the other side of the Mickey’s building because teenagers were always flooding the indoor bathrooms.
I get inside one of them and try to avoid breathing the stench. I see that door lock is broken, but I probably wouldn’t have bothered anyway. I unzip my pants and start to take a leak. The swinging door behind me is flung open as I am still midstream.
I feel a splash of urine on my hands as I swing my torso around, startled.
“Fuck off, I’m in he—” I freeze when I see Chrissy.
“Are you sure you want me to fuck off?” She giggles a little. “Or maybe you just want me to… fuck?” Turning around the rest of the way, I am still holding my junk. “I’m glad you started already, because you’ll have to be quick,” she says.
“What about Curtis? I thought you two were…” I don’t really give a shit about Curtis, but it would feel strange not to mention it first. Some piss is dripping between the fingers cupping my balls.
Chrissy gets down on her bare knees. The plastic floor is wet with dark pools of piss and crud. The stench is absolutely foul, but Chrissy seems unfazed.
She grabs the hands around my balls and guides them gently until my palms are clutching the back of her long, bleach blond ponytail.
She pulls down the front of her tight, red and white polka dot shirt and begins rubbing my cock between her gorgeously rounded breasts. She was the only girlfriend I’d had with D cup tits, and I suddenly remember how much I loved fucking them.
I am already hard before her lips are around the tip of my cock. Looking up at me, she smiles and licks around the head. I close my eyes and feel her tongue wrap around the head and work its way down to the shaft.
She makes a sucking sound and slides back up the shaft with her lips. I can hear here take in a deep breath, and then…
“Push,” she says, pressing her hands against the back of mine until they are firmly grasping the back of her head.
So I push, hard.
Her throat slips down along my cock until I can feel her tongue lapping against my ball sack. Her nose is pressing against my abdomen.
Thick saliva is dripping from my balls as she gags. I don�
��t think she can possibly go any deeper.
“Ungh,” I moan. I am ready to explode in her mouth. I feel myself gripping her head tighter and pushing harder the more she gags.
I push as far as she can go. She grabs the back of my ass with her hands and pulls me in closer. I had never been this deep in her. I am going to cum faster than I ever had with her.
But she lets go of my ass and pulls back with her neck, slipping her throat back up the shaft until her mouth is off of me. A long, thick string of saliva is still connecting her lips and the base of my cock.
She flashes a devious smile as the string of spit dribbles between her breasts. She licks all around her lips and begins sucking on an index finger manicured with glittery red polish.
She moans a little, then makes a pouty frown like a puppy dog.
“Sorry, you can’t cum in my mouth. That wouldn’t be fair to Curtis.” Then she giggles a bit and I know she isn’t being entirely sincere.
She is probably right though, but who gives a fuck about Curtis. I am so damn close. My cock is dripping, I can’t take it.
“You’ll have to cum in my ass.”
She turns toward the door, pulling down on cut off denim shorts to expose her tight, bare ass.
She spreads her legs apart as far as her shorts could stretch at her thighs, pushing against the two sidewalls of the stall for stability and turning her head back toward me.
She smiles and winks, and I have to stop myself from cumming right then. The noxious odor of the stall is dizzying, and I stumble as I step forward.
“Oh fuck, Curtis is coming!” Chrissy is peering through the small air slits along top of the wall. “The lock is broken, he could open the stall and see us!” She pulls up her shorts, fixes her tits, and bolts out the door.
“Hey baby!” I can hear her saying to Curtis just outside. That was it, it was over. The fumes in the stall are overpowering, more than I can handle. I have to hold my breath and prop myself up against the wall with one shoulder to keep from passing out.
I hear Curtis asking her what had taken so long and I just want to get the hell out of here. Chrissy is saying they should go wait by the truck for me. I couldn’t stand that cheating whore when we were together, but she does have her moments.
The thought of getting up into Chrissy’s perfect ass just one more time distracts me enough from the urge to breathe — and then they’re gone.
CHAPTER THREE
We were standing under a big white canopy atop perfectly trimmed grass in front of the Estate of Affairs retirement home. Something about a well maintained lawn has a calming effect on me.
I was feeling a little better now. We had our batches of mostly snickerdoodles laid out on long folding tables, all of which I had baked myself.
We used to sell a bunch of variety from different packaged brands but, after doing this for awhile, found that Bonnie Proper was always the highest demand.
Other sellers are still setting up tables, putting out crap I knew couldn’t compete. A couple of guys are standing in front of some frosted sugar cookies with sprinkles, putting up a sign to show that, “All proceeds of this sale will be donated to The Institute for Cancer Research.”
Fucking amateurs. Representing a youth charity is how you get the sales.
It doesn’t matter if it’s leukemia, multiple sclerosis, or type 2 diabetes - you’ve got to have something with “children” in the name of your charity if you want to sell big at the retirement homes.
I was standing on a stool and hanging our sign for, “The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underprivileged Children” when I noticed Chrissy behind me.
She was looking up at me as my gaze naturally descended upon her cleavage, which was even bustier with the bra she wore for increasing sales. Her breasts triggered a flashback of what had happened in the portable stall behind Mickey’s.
It almost didn’t feel real.
“Hey asshole, quit staring at my tits and get the cash box ready.”
I don’t get it. She was begging for my cock in her ass not more than an hour ago, and now I’m getting the bitch treatment. I turn and see that people are already lining up at our booth.
I look around for Curtis who is smoking over by his truck. Curtis never helped with god damn anything.
Chrissy was our front person, and I had to admit that she really knew how to sell those tits. She could get these geezers to buy more cookies than they could eat in a month. More than was remotely healthy anyway, I’m sure.
But every Sunday they were lining up for more.
Without her there selling those sweet goods, cookies and tits alike, Curtis and me would never be dominating the local bake sales like we were.
“I think y’all are doing excellent work. God’s work. Y’know my grandson Brian, he used to work at The Center for…” I start tuning out whatever this old hag is saying. I just smile and nod, waiting for her to give me the damn money.
“Out of twenty? Okay, and here is five as your change. Have a wonderful day, and be sure to come back for more next week!” I pride myself in always being so polite with people.
Three more cookies for fifteen dollars and we are killing it. The booths around us were lucky to see two or three sales.
“You just have to share your oatmeal raisin recipe with me, deary. I promise I’ll keep it our little secret, m’kay?” Was this bitch still talking?
“Sorry Mrs. Heartfield, you know I can’t!” I say with a bright smile. It’s called Bonnie Fucking Proper, but you’ll never know that.
“You look like a smart young man…” she starts again. Yeah, smart enough to know when to shut up. “I could pay you and your friends quite generously if you would just show me how.”
She starts to play with her pearl necklace, obviously eager to get a response. I notice her rings, nearly one for each finger and most of them embedded with some kind of flashy jewel or diamond.
They looked real enough. Mrs. Heartfield was always going on about her dead husband, how he used to be the owner of some burger chain. She must have been loaded.
“My unit is at 3-B. Please do stop by if you change your mind, sweetie.” She walks off looking slightly disappointed. I wince when Chrissy jabs an elbow hard against my ribcage.
“You fucking idiot. We need that money.” I suddenly recall why I had broken it off with her — she was a bitch, and a slut. Curtis is laughing behind us. She seems to treat him a lot less violently.
But then, they’ve only been together for about fifteen hours.
The crowd is thinning out so I start counting our take. We are sold out on almost everything. A tall bald man is squinting through thick glasses, obviously having difficulty reading our sign. “Y’know, I’ve never heard of The Foundation for the Rescue and Nurturing of Underpriv-,”
“It’s new,” Curtis interjects. “In fact, we started it ourselves.”
“Well isn’t that just wonderful. I say, you three are doing God’s work.” What is it with old people’s obsession about God and his work? Is God really so lazy that he needs other people to do all the work for him?
“Here you go, free of charge,” Curtis says. He hands the man a plastic bag stuffed full of our remaining stock. Typical Curtis never lifting a god damn finger — unless he’s giving away my shit for free.
CHAPTER FOUR
We are back at Mickey’s, this time for lunch inside. We had made enough money to make rent, at least. But I was still a long way off from affording my own transportation.
The sooner I could free myself of any reliance on Curtis, the better.
I look over at Chrissy and I’m trying to read her. What was her angle here? Was hooking up with Curtis her way of getting back at me? I feel myself desperately missing her tits.
I just want to bang that ass one more time. If I went to the restroom, would she follow me in again?
I decide to try and get her attention without Curtis noticing. I make a stealthy move under the table with my leg while I
maintain focus on my food. I tap down on her the foot with my sneaker and realize she’s wearing flip-flops.
“Ow! What the fuck?” she yells. Her reactive jerk knocks over a cup of soda. It was almost empty though, so only a couple cubes of melted ice dribble out onto the marble painted table.
I want to answer with a suggestive eyebrow but now Curtis has got his attention on me, too.
Mission failed.
“Hey, uh, could you spot me some gas money?” Curtis is saying to me. The nerve of this asshole. I take a giant bite of my Angus beef burger, medium rare. I’m chewing so I can’t answer.
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